I dream of a lot of things, but there is one part of certain dreams that defines them. Of all these daydreams and night dreams, I dream of this particular feeling of hands touching one another. I always notice how hands between couples work. They are separate; they hang one more on the other. Tugging the other, cupping one another. Hands are important, how they interact between people show the world in which those two people interact: playfully, nervously, loveless and hardly.
My dream of how I want to interact with my girl is simple:
- Slowly brought in together from a traced movement down the forearm
- Snaking towards an interlocking…a pair of cross-laced fingers.
Palms together. Loose, but facing one another.
A slow show of time taken. It’s the sort of thing worked on, it shows that both parties took their time, letting things grow, slowly letting things happen. No sudden stopping, no impatience, saying: “This isn’t going anywhere,” or “I love you,” within the first week.
Not this pretend stuff.
You were both careful, it shows, you both took your time to feel the person out and every nudge further wanted you to get closer. Every flaw did not deny closing proximity. There is strength in palms, when you have a slight distance is the freedom to breath, the place between them is close and warm, but those palms, they are not clammy and sweaty, they have breathing space, their out identities not mashed up against one another.
The movement from forearm, the path down, the softness of their skin, the electric feel of another’s hand brushing against yours. Obvious sexuality, but sensually, not just some pornographic thing.
The interconnecting fingers show the bond. This impossible fantasy between two people in sync, defined as their own people, but necessarily bound, in an exacting way.
Binding. By choice.
In morning sunlight, on a clear morning, in a sea of white sheets, with the warmth of bodies, nothing holding them back from one another.
It extends to places most fear.
And yes, you fear. That why your hands move away into another; it’s your loss, it’s your growth without that person, it’s letting go, loosening that grip to reach for another thing. The sort of thing no one is judged upon, because it is expected to happen. It is not promoted. It is analyzed to be statistically proven to be something on the decline for fear.
For not trying for that other hand.
For giving up because life is hard.
For not trying because you see no immediate reaction.
But that is not how it should be. Nor how you should act.
Like a coward, like a wandering maggot that touches everything. You will never touch everything. And every touch is fleeting. It means less and less. And if anything, anything should be made in this world. It is meaning. With your hands.
Profile: Jon Topolski